Blame the Cat
by Furrytoaster
Summary: "I really don't care, please don't speak to me," he said, trying not to look at her. But it was hard. She was like a car accident. He couldn't look away.


"Amy."

The silver-coated feline's distinctly well upholstered form reflected in the panicked amber orbs of one Ian Kabra as he called out for the beast's tamer, attempting to conceal his panic with the famed Kabra nonchalance that had won him a (very painful) kick in the bollocks from his girlfriend Cara (he'd forgiven her for what he decided was simply a sign of the restless legs syndrome she needed medication for).

The thing bared its fangs, awful things so yellow their pigment rivaled the crest of the charming Ekaterina, and Ian's reflexes kicked in, quite literally in fact, as he swung his right leg forward in a swift kick that would've made Cara proud, cursing as the future pocket square channeled Amy's climbing abilities and attached itself to his very well-insured ankle.

"Amy!" He called out with urgency, hopping about an expensive lamp as he attempted to pluck the creature's claws off of his custom-made Italian leather shoes, not bothering to feign control. He was fighting for his life, and if Amy Cahill didn't come and help him this very instant he may be reduced to a pile of shreds. A very expensive pile of shreds that would one day become antiques auctioned in a museum in Paris or London, but a pile of shreds nonetheless.

"Blast it," he thought, abandoning any sense of decorum he had maintained as he hopped down the library, designer soles creating dents in the rich Persian carpet before he creaked open the heavy door, growing more alarmed by the second as he realized the creature had managed to rip almost half of his pant leg off. "AMY YOUR STUPID CAT IS TRYING TO _EAT_ ME WOULD YOU PLEASE COME HERE AND FETCH IT!"

He heard nothing for a moment, but the silence was followed by the clicking sound of swift footsteps down the stairs, which preceded noises made by Amy's cheap tennis shoes (They were "practical" she said).

Ian released a sigh of relief as he glimpsed the coppery locks of his cousin fluttering through the air, and he glared at her, offended that she had not come sooner.

"Saladin! No! No, Saladin! Bad Saladin!" She said sternly, managing to pry it off his leg. It hit the ground, and ran off somewhere, and Ian sunk into a plush armchair. His pride over the triumphant victory he had made masked the pain he felt in the scratches that had been viciously made in his leg and on his forearms.

"Ian, you know he doesn't like you," Amy reprimanded lightly, dusting some cat fur off of her torso. As he watched her do so, he realized that he was probably caked in cat fur, and that caused him to leap up and remove every strand of it from his body.

"I'm well aware of its feelings, thank you," Ian snapped, fervently picking the cat's souvenirs from off his mint green polo shirt. "But it came to me, and I did everything you told me to."

Amy raised a suspicious brow. "Did you make eye contact?"

"No."

"Did you make sudden movements?"

"No."

"Do you smell like fish?"

Ian looked at her in genuine outrage. "Excuse me, I have taken the care to smell like musk and cloves by spraying myself every three to six hours with Calvin Klein, and I find it incredibly offensive that you, who is not foreign to this fact, have asked me if I smell like fish," he said, placing a hand on his chest.

He looked even more aghast as her vividly green eyes filled with mirth and she clasped her hand to her mouth, failing to choke back a giggle.

"Are you _laughing_?" He asked in disbelief.

"No, sorry, of course not," replied Amy, composing herself, "I'll get some disinfectant for those, um, battle wounds. Just wait here."

Before Ian could string together another speech regarding the lack of respect she had for the sacredness of cologne, she was gone. She returned in a flash to find him sulking on another armchair, and she made her way over to him and planted herself on a stool she dragged over.

"It's going to sting," she warned him, swathing a cotton bud in his old friend Neosporin.

"Well then, the least you could do is apologize for it," he said, still bristling from Amy's prior comment.

"Why should I apologize? You got yourself scratched by the cat," she mumbled, and Ian simply scoffed.

As she ran the cotton up and down the scratches on his leg, Ian noted how gentle, yet firm, she was when she gripped his ankle, and the careful way she treated each scratch, dabbing lightly and evenly. Her long lashes hung over her jade green eyes, which were narrowed in concentration, and the red in her carelessly tied up hair glinted in the soft glow of the library's lights.

He tore his eyes off of her as he realized what he was doing with a scowl. He hadn't been admiring her. He was just observing. Being observant was in his nature, and it was one of the characteristics that allowed him to notice how lovely Cara looked when she wore green, as it matched the green of her eyes, not unlike the way Amy-

"No!" He barked, jerking his foot away, almost kicking the object of his admiration (he meant "observation") in the face as she yelped.

"Oh my _god_ , I'm being so gentle! Stop being so sensitive!" She grumbled, smoothing down the white bandages she had wrapped around his poor calve.

"I don't like you, you know," Ian said loudly as Amy moved on to his wrists.

"The feeling is mutual," she chuckled, submerging some more cotton in the disinfectant.

"No," he said, moving his wrist away. "I don't have any feelings for you," he said, "and that's that."

Amy stared at him bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm in love with Cara, alright?" He said, standing up, "in fact, she can patch me up, so you don't need to do that, thank you very much." He snatched the cotton away from her, and screwed the cap back on the bottle.

"Ian, where's this-"

"I really don't care, please don't speak to me," he said, trying not to look at her. But it was hard. She was like a car accident. He couldn't look away.

"Oh my g-" Amy stood up as well, and knocked the bottle out of his hands by accident, causing bits of disinfectant to begin to dribble out. She was so clumsy, it was pathetic. Cara was nothing like that at all.

"Oh now look what you've done," he muttered, bending down at the same time she did to pick up the bottle, causing their heads to bump together.

"Ow! God, Amy, you're really not helping anybody by being here right now," he spat, and she stiffened and straightened up.

"Okay I'll just go," she said, her confused tone colored with hurt. She had no idea what he was talking about. And why he was talking about it. They'd both moved on, mostly, and they were back to being platonic cousins like they had been before. Pretty much.

Ian stood up as well, his brow creased, and his Amber eyes bore angrily into her face, which he noticed was a pretty shade of pink. He opened his mouth with another cutting response, but was interrupted before he had even had chance to speak, as Saladin knocked into him with an angry "mrrp" and caused him to stumble onto Amy, accidentally leading him to press his lips against her lips, which he noticed were horribly chapped.

He paused momentarily, and for a few seconds, he kissed her. He _kissed_ her. Well technically it was a kiss, but not really, because what did a kiss really constitute of? What was a kiss? He felt a pleasant burning sensation in his belly and his legs turned to pudding, before he pulled away and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Bloody ball of fur!" He growled as he stomped out of the library to find Cara, leaving a baffled Amy behind.

As he walked up the stairs, he ignored the stupid tingling feeling in his lips. And his right calf. And everywhere else Amy had touched.

It was all that bloody cats fault.

.

Hi there! Well, I suppose this is technically my first story, but I used to have a fairly active account back in 2012, with a password I can't seem to remember. The reason I came back is because after ignoring the 39 clues (and Scholastic's attempt to squeeze every last drop of profit from one of my favorite book series' of all time) for the past couple years, I decided to have a look at some of the stories here. A couple days ago, the name Cara appeared, and I was like who the heck is _Cara._ I have to say that I am incredibly, incredibly heartbroken. I feel like much of the hype over the 39 clues and one of the driving forces of the fandom has always, always been Amian. Amian was literally my first ship, before I knew what a ship was in 2009 when the Sword Thief came out. I've felt like as long as Ian never dithered, Amian would still have a chance, no matter how many boys Amy decided to juggle, and I have been incredibly cranky the past couple days.

But despite everything Ian seems to say about Cara (the butter on his crumpet stuff) I have hope. 1) I'm certain the authors are aware of exactly how passionate and how _persistent_ Amian shippers can be, and as the majority of people who've read all the books are very vivid in expressing how they feel about Amian. 2) I feel as though it is not like Ian to admit his feelings so openly, and in such a manner. With Amy, you could see how he struggled to comprehend the idea of having a crush, and now, with his big proclamations, he seems to be compensating for something. 3) You can't _forget_ the first person who ever made you feel something, and I mean, like, Amy...Ian...it was all so beautifully complex...gaahh.

Okay, well, my apologies for that terribly long authors note, I don't really expect anyone to be reading this bit down here, but I would love to hear what you think about my story, and your thoughts on Ian's relationship status? Thank you!


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